


To Kill a King

by becoming-the-moon (corvidity)



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Anime Spoilers, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:25:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4673483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidity/pseuds/becoming-the-moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only a king can kill another king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Kill a King

This is what it is like to kill a king:

The blade pierces his chest with ease, half of it pure instinct and other half a whispering presence that billows and flags at the back of his mind, _this needs to be a clean strike, before his Sword of Damocles falls._ Munakata flows forward with his sword until his hands, clenching the hilt tightly, are right over the Red King's heart. Numbly, he is aware of the other man placing his hands (still warm) on his shoulders.

The body doesn’t make a sound as it slumps towards him, head resting above his shoulder as if in thoughtful repose – and Munakata makes the mistake of breathing in the soot-smoke-charcoal-ash of not a body but _Mikoto Suoh,_ who, to the sliver of resentment within Munakata, will no longer bear the title of King for much longer.

He feels like he’s holding up the world instead of a dying man.

Suoh mouths silent words in Munakata’s ear, his voice soft and snowy, drowned in the wind and the numbness of their ears. Munakata wishes that Blue Aura would grant him the kindness of returning his fallible human memory for a few minutes, a few seconds even, if it means he’ll be spared the perfect recall of the stuttering heartbeat beneath his fingers, the answering coldness in his own body.  

Munakata’s hands are burning, every part of him in contact with Suoh is going numb with fire and words he can’t force out, left incoherent and mute in the face of the crime he has committed. He is not guilty of the act and he is guilty; he is freed of responsibility in the name of the greater good and Suoh doesn’t blame him (his clansmen likely will), but Munakata’s own guilt snaps its way up a rapier lodged in another king’s ribcage.

_Long live the king,_ Munakata thinks wryly. Suoh doesn’t oblige him. He was always a shoddy king, hot-tempered and capricious, inflicting cruelty out of kindness by loving too freely. Again, he’s leaving Munakata to clean up his mess. The blood dripping thickly onto the snow is red, _but you’re not supposed to leave any blood, are you, Suoh?_ It’s warm on his fingers, these last traces of him, and Munakata wonders selfishly why Suoh cannot live a little longer to share the burden of killing a king.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, heavy are the swords that hover as a reminder of their duty. The weight in his arm lightens, flake by flake, wisps of red light swallowed by the snow. Silence falls upon the deserted island, barely a whisper of wind passing through. The weight above the Blue King presses down on him all at once, and he shoulders it as he always has: dependably, wearily, and now alone.

This is what it is like to live as a king.  

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated :)


End file.
